Welcome Home

I bought a writing prompt journal back at the end of February when I found myself emotionally and creatively struggling to write my next blog post. I thought that the journal would help spark some ideas for topics, but I still found it difficult to get a blog post out. I started this 365 day journal on the first day of March. Each month has a different topic, and each prompt is dated for every day of the year. It has been a great new addition to my ridiculously early morning routine; it starts my day off with creative thinking and really puts me into a positive head space. Writing has been very therapeutic for me, especially with all the “loss” and changes and grieving I have endured over the last eight months.

March’s monthly topic were prompts on my environment, specifically my home. Reflecting back now on the last month and all the questions I answered and wrote about has me wondering if this idea of “home” is part of why I have felt off for the last couple of weeks. Writing about “home” has definitely helped me refocus where I was at in this present chapter of grief and moving through the changes I have experienced, but it also made me question where I feel most at home, and how I’m not sure where that is anymore.

People use the words “home” and “house” as interchangeable synonyms. But, for me, they are very, very different. I truly believe that you live in a house, and who you are with and what you are doing, and what you do with and in the house makes it a home. I have referred to many different places and people as my home, but reflecting in my daily journal prompts, I really believe I have had many, many houses, and only a couple of homes.

I was fortunate enough to spend the first 21 years of my life in a home. I grew up with a mom and dad who love each other, and two younger sisters that reminded me every day how important (and how challenging) it was to be a role model. It wasn’t a large home by any means, and we weren’t considered “rich,” but I felt rich. Our home was full of love and laughter, and the best birthday parties and the biggest Christmas’, and tons of photo albums full of happy memories. When people ask me what my first memories are, I remember joyful times, not traumatic ones. I was very lucky to have grown up in the home that I did. But, then I had moved out, unexpectedly and impulsively, in 2013 after I had graduated college to begin my life with my son’s father. Looking back, I probably had rushed the process, but at the time, it was what I wanted and what I needed as I ventured out into the “real” world with a “big kid job” and a person I loved. That was just the next step. I never moved back home once I moved out that September.

He and I lived in many, many different houses, that were actually apartments. One in George’s Mills, one in New London, and three different ones in Nashua. One of them being the townhouse apartment that we brought our son into, and the last house we lived in together. Our townhouse was much larger than the other apartments we lived in, and I was truly excited for this home that we would have together as a small family. Eventually, that home stopped being a home, and became a house. I denied it for a long time, but once I accepted that my house was no longer a home, I knew it was time to leave. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make because of all the positive, exciting memories I had created with my son and his father, and because it was the only home my son knew. But, it was not a home for me no matter how hard I tried to make it stay a home. You can’t force something that just isn’t meant to be.

So when I moved out, I knew exactly where I needed to be for my emotional and mental state to be protected and safe. I needed to be in the first and best place I called home, with two of the most important people in my life. I needed to move back to my parents home after being away for 7 years. I remember calling my mom at 12:30am on a Sunday midnight, not asking, but telling her I needed her to make room for my son and I because I was coming home and bringing him with me. No questions asked, she and my dad went to work and made room for us. My parents have always told me that I can always come home, but I never thought I would need to. “When your back’s against the wall, baby, come on home. I’m always here for you.” (“The Man Who Loves You the Most,” by Zac Brown Band. Ugh, all the feels.) That was them. That still is them.

Coming home during one of the most difficult times of my life was one of the best things that I could have done myself. However, I could not stay there for long. Not because my parents didn’t want us there and not because I was intruding on their home and space. My parents genuinely loved having my son and I at the house. We had such fun family dinners, nightly tooth brush dances and wrestling matches, and trying to decipher songs that Oriyus learned at daycare. (Shawty little baddie). But instead, because, after awhile, I realized that it was no longer my home – it was another house. (Mom and dad, I know you’re reading this. And please just know that it is not because of anything you did or didn’t do. I promise you. We are incredibly lucky to always have you in our corner.) I had come to the house for holidays, day visits, and sleepovers, but I didn’t live there anymore. So after being out of the home for 7 years, and having a child of my own, I didn’t feel like I could stay permanently (or semi-permanently). So, at that point, my parents home, which I love, became a house to me. “You leave home. You move on. You do the best you can. I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am.” (“House That Built Me,” by Miranda Lambert.) I was lost, and I returned to a place that was safe and familiar as I got myself back to a place where I could build a home for my son and I as we start the new chapter of our lives. Thank you, mom and dad, for always allowing me to come home.

Now, my son and I have been in our temporary home since December. I love it. It is ours, and everything in it, is ours. It is small, but it is cozy. It has all of our favorite games and food in it, and it is full of love and laughter. I will never be put into a position again where I have to leave everything behind on someone else’s terms. The next time I pack my things (MY things), it will be to upgrade where Oriyus and I are so that I can give him a larger room and a larger backyard to play in. It will be with someone that makes me feel at home when I am with them, regardless of where that is. I did say at the beginning of this that a person can be home, and I truly do believe that. No matter how hard my days are at work or when I am having an internal battle with myself, wherever my son is is where I feel home. He is my home. I just pray that someday I will be able to give him more than a temporary home. I pray that someday I will be able to give him the home that my parents gave to me. For now, I am pretty ok with our temporary home.